


Embers

by LizSmashum



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Dreams, Empire, proto-germanic, proto-zemnian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:07:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24001072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizSmashum/pseuds/LizSmashum
Summary: Caleb dreams of fire.
Kudos: 30





	Embers

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This short story came to me while listening to Heilung, of all things. Some of their songs contain proto-Germanic prose, and deep throat singing techniques from that region. Then I started writing!  
> Thanks to Raygan for editing!

Something was building inside of him. Veth and Beau had been taking bets on whether it was because he needed to get laid, or if he was upset about Essek’s uncertain allegiances. Jester loudly speculated that it might have been gas, and Caleb pretended to not think it was  _ that  _ funny.

At first, Caleb was certain it was his usual anxieties, hyper-vigilant as his compatriots traveled alongside him. Having a task to complete, a goal to focus on? Helped distract him from the knot of tension in his guts.

The conflicts in those few days were small and brief. Everyone did well, a few bumps and bruises, but otherwise totally unharmed. Only one adversary put up a real challenge, and as usual, Jester was able to be her charming self. They retrieved whatever fetch item their employers wanted and were on their way. Easy, routine stuff.

He’d expected the return to the safe haven of a tavern would lessen his discomfort, that once he’d flopped down onto a bed it would loosen, give him relief. He ate a fairly hearty dinner, drank, tried to read, and completed his precise security routine. Nothing was different, nothing had changed, and that was enough to let him begin his decompression most nights.

It took some time to release his white-knuckled grip on consciousness, Veth’s snores from nearby helped. Instead, as he fell into slumber, sinking into welcome darkness beneath a warm, dry blanket, Caleb dr _ eamed. _

**_R e m e m b e r_ **

_ Fire. _

_ There was always fire, burning embers swirling in an endless, choking heat, the glittering detritus stinging his face. It was minor at first, much like when the wind picked up the smoke of a campfire and wafted it into your eyes. _

_ It grew more painful as time went on, he fought to breathe, the tension in his body building, curling in on himself to protect his naked skin. Caleb was too agonized to be embarrassed at his nudity, bare to the scalding air. _

_ He felt alone, and claustrophobic with the bodies that squirmed around him, in an instant, he would be isolated again, and then back in a tightly crowded room. _

**_T h e y c a l l_ **

_ The voices of his parents were present. The single scream his mother gave was enough to snap him backward, put him back in those acolyte robes, and poorly fitted shoes. He felt like a child, it was ages behind him, yet always occupied a place in his trembling heart. When he realized what he had done. That the splinters in his fingers from pushing the cart were burning in his skin, and that it was too late to take everything back. His grief-induced epiphany became frozen in time. _

_ Yet now his mother and father’s cries for help weren’t singular, his mind beginning to blur at the edges. The shrill shriek of fright was numbing him, his head was going blank, fuzzy, unable to do anything but be stuck in that moment – _

**_P u r i f y_ **

_ He was pulled out of the night terror, it felt like dropping from the already furnace-hot space into a bottomless pool of magma. The centers of his bones aching, Caleb guessed that a normal body of flesh and blood would have collapsed, yet his very flesh began to glow, veins illuminating from within. It was as if molten metal was spreading to every atom of his being, between every cell, every pound of muscle and fat. _

_ His form steadily became a beacon in the dark maelstrom, taut, trembling as his hair ignited in a wreath of flames. It didn’t burn him, rather it seemed to ignite the latent embers within, and with every struggling breath he took? The wizard’s illumination grew. _

**_C l e a n s e_ **

_ It was just a dream. It wasn’t real. Yet he could hear the screams of pain, voices rising to a fevered pitch. His own would have joined them, but all that left his parted lips was a cloud of smoldering ash. _

_ It left him like a mist, spreading above him like a starry sky, passing infinitely outwards with the echoes of forgotten voices. Caleb could feel the flames licking at him, yet it was as if he was one of the many growing plumes of fire in the dark. _

**_R e n e w_ **

_ Then he was smothered again, drawn into a compressed space, held by an almost volcanic grip. Were there still screams? The voices were there, building, not the cries of the contorted and dying, but the voices and chants of ancient tongues. They sang deep in their throats, the sound vibrating through his being, his chest filled with a blossoming pyre. The petals spread outwards, upwards, ever higher. _

_ The heartbeat in his ear was steady, the beat of their remembered drums coinciding with the beat now thrumming in his white-hot veins. Hands cradled him, his still working eyes burning as he looked upwards. _

_ There was nothing, but a smile, and the same comforting, motherly voice. _

**_B u r n_ **

Despite the heat of his dream, Caleb sat upright in a cold sweat, biting at his own lip to stifle a cry. His scars, hidden beneath bandages, still felt startlingly similar to the embers that had danced in the air around him. The room was silent, everyone asleep, crammed in a single room with just enough beds for the group to pair up. Caduceus had volunteered to sleep on the floor, bless the man, allowing Caleb his own cot.

Caleb allowed his heart to slow, staring upwards at the dark ceiling until he was able to peel himself out of sweat-soaked sheets. A window creaked in the wind, after pulling his blanket over his shoulders as an improvised cloak, the wizard shuffled over to remedy that.

The sound was enough to rouse the half-orc, who cracked open an astute eye to watch the Zemnian lean upon the window’s sill. Clearly he was rattled by something, his thousand-yard stare had extended to somewhere in the ethereal realm by how wide his eyes were.

Caleb wasn’t paying attention to the scrutiny of his person, he could see a small flicker, a fire built in an outdoor fireplace, the tavern’s patio just below their room. The soft pink of the Firbolg’s hair was visible even in the darkness, the flickering orange light reflecting off of the pale fur.

“Still up?” It was a muffled, but blunt question. Caleb nodded, pulled away from the cold breeze outside. “Bad dreams?”

“Mm.” Caleb debated lying about it, then shrugged. “Yes.”

“Your hair’s more sweaty than usual, I figured I should ask.” Fjord didn’t rise from the bed, too comfortable to consider extricating himself from the sheets. “Caduceus is downstairs if you need to talk.”

“I’m alright.” He groused, even as he wondered how the perfect pink tone was maintained and attempted to wave the suggestion off. “I just need some air –”

“ – Caleb.” The wizard turned, Fjord’s unamused stare caught him off guard, almost getting a smile from him. “Go talk to him.”

“Why?” Caleb’s expression pinched, a bit irritated due to his stinging wrists and hands.

“He seems to be the one to talk to about pants-shittingly scary dreams.” Fjord heaved a heavy sigh, eyes closing as he began to settle again. “In my experience.”

Caleb considered ignoring the advice, preferring his usual methods of coping via avoidance. Now he found himself silently moving through the tavern, past the sleeping bartender, the silent dining room, and the dozing drunkards.

The dew that had accumulated on the grass was cold, Caleb enjoyed the change in temperature, yet he pulled his blanket tighter around him as he approached. A bit of ash floated in the air, when it touched Caduceus’ ear it flicked, dispelling the itch unconsciously.

There was a practiced grace in the large hands, as the cleric moved his kettle away from the flame he added another log in the same motion. The wizard stood silent for a moment, observing, eyes locked on the dancing lights that breathed like they had a life all their own.

“Tea?” A cup was being offered, and Caleb hadn’t even sat down yet. “It’s a Chamomile kind of morning.”

Caleb couldn’t disagree, plopping himself on the bench beside his tall compatriot. Caduceus let the silence drag on, though it wasn’t awkward. It was an understanding calm, an unspoken request heeded. The wizard was still gathering himself, and he was grateful that Cad opted to sit and sip at his tea.

He radiated love. Caleb saw an appreciation in everything Caduceus did, every whisper to a houseplant, every lazy bumble-bee greeting. In turn, those tiny moments of gratitude taught the wizard to be thankful for… just about  _ everything  _ the group did, really.

“How does the Wild Mother,” Caleb’s lips were at the cup’s edge, but he hadn’t drunk just yet, “Feel about fire?”

“Huh…” Caduceus paused in his internal reflections, eyes closed as if still in meditation. His head tipped, for a moment one of his ears was lifted, listening to some distant, far off sound. Then said ear flicked, chilled by a breeze as he spoke again. “I imagine she feels the same way about water, plants, dirt… It’s necessary. Like a lightning strike. Part of nature.”

“That’s similar to what I’ve been told. I find myself wondering how that’s still possible.” The tea was unsweetened, not tainted by any creams, it was bitter but somehow smooth. “Considering what we’ve done with it.”

“Controlling it can be a challenge, that’s true. That’s  _ any _ aspect of the world.” The bench swayed as the large individual nodded, “Sometimes trees get sick, get a disease, or an infectious growth. Sometimes it spreads, beginning killing off the trees around it.”

“Isn’t that also a part of the ‘natural order?’”

“To a point, but so is the response to pain. If you have a carefully controlled fire, you can cleanse the diseased trees.”

“And if the fire isn’t controlled?”

“Lamentable, but even fire burns itself out while raging. The forest is still able to start again, without the danger of infection.” Caduceus turned a knowing, but sympathetic gaze to Caleb. “You’ve been burned – and have burned - enough times before, at the expense of your own well being.”

“That’s a way to tell the story, yes.”

“What’d She show you?”

Caleb shouldn’t have been surprised, Caduceus was both easy to read, yet his simple text could be deciphered into a more complex code and personality. Caleb had yet to find the right cipher to be able to truly understand the giant, affectionate ally.

“Nothing new.”

“It’s something.” Caduceus saw through the lie, “Otherwise you wouldn’t be out here.”

“Maybe.” He was right, but the wizard saw no point in letting him know. “I was kind of hoping  _ you  _ would know.”

“Here, why don’t  _ you _ tell me what She wanted.” Cad prompted gently, “Off the top of your head, what’s your first thought?” He saw Caleb pause to think. “This isn’t a spell to write or design, it’s your instincts. No overthinking.”

“…It’s possible She showed me those who have died before.” Caleb could recall the whispered words, like the brush of a flame against his ear. Scalding, stinging but gone in an instant. “That they knew the role of fire long before we did.”

“Before the Empire, don’t you think it’s possible that both your ancestors and mine danced under the same moon?” The thought seemed plausible enough when Caduceus said it, Caleb couldn’t imagine himself doing it of course. “Maybe not worshipping the same gods, or worshipping at all, but sharing the same understanding.”

“Of what?”

“Balance. Nature. Death.” The kind eyes narrowed with the lazy smile Caduceus gave, “It might not have been the Wild Mother who wanted to speak to you at all. I get the feeling someone asked her to.”

“I can’t imagine who would want to, at least in this fashion.” Caleb then downed his tea, wishing it was schnapps desperately, despite the welcome company.

“Who was in the dream?” Cad was pushing again, a gentle nudge with a soft elbow. “Who was with you the entire time?”

He allowed Caleb a moment to think this time, the silence was soft, even the chirping crickets and frogs were muted. He was drifting, drawn back to heat, the flames, his mind beginning to go fuzzy and quiet.

Caleb recalled with perfect detail the hands licking at his skin like flames, pushing upwards, cradled in a massive palm as the voices below called out. Not screaming, but prayers, tears, whispered wishes, and grieving regret made into the night.

“They were… my people.” Caleb felt Cad’s heavy hand on his shoulder, “They were calling out to me. Scared.”

“They asked for you.” Caduceus’ statement was made with certainty, and the large, calm gaze was distant as he spoke. “All the pain they endured, suffering at the hands of new ‘civilized’ folk. They begged for someone to clear the diseased trees within their own forests.”

“It took long enough for them to show up.”

“That’s the thing: requests don’t always happen right away. Sometimes the people who make them have to understand  _ why  _ they’re making the request in the first place. Ungrounded power without intent is just…  _ asking  _ for trouble.”

“Even with that power, it still didn’t help them.” Caleb glanced around at the buildings, built in a plot of land that had once been dense forest. The trees were ancient, gnarled, but green and with character. “They’re not here now.”

“Aren’t they?” Cad set down his empty cup on the ground, helpfully pulling Caleb’s mug from his slackened fingers. “We’re both sitting here, aren’t we? They were being wiped out, smothered, their cultures and homes destroyed. You’re just the first one to hear them, that’s a victory in itself.”

“The generations before me helped found this Empire, I don’t understand why they would hate it.”

“Your people are part of an Empire  _ now _ , but it’s likely that they look down and see nothing but pain.” Cad’s lips twisted, pinching. “You have the face and track record of an ‘ideal’ Samaritan.”

“I have to disagree.” The confused wizard couldn’t help but scoff and laugh at that. Him? A Samaritan? True he didn’t seek to do ill deeds upon his fellow citizens, but he couldn’t say he was a goody-two-shoes. Whatever that phrase meant. “If they know my track record, it’s going to close doors, not open them.”

“Someone in power might listen to you over any of us, even if it’s a bias that’s acted on unconsciously. You understand.”

“Ah.” Caleb did, unfortunately. “It’s true, some of us don’t exactly look like mild-mannered worshippers of the Platinum Dragon.”

“I can’t imagine that we all looked the same at the beginning of written history, either. Empires don’t happen without at least a few kinds of people working together. Me? Jester? Fjord? To some, we’re reminders of a past they couldn’t control. So they swept them aside, and still actively do so to people who are different.”

“Children on the pyre. Astrid.” Caleb swallowed thickly, a sour taste forming in his mouth, “Me. My parents. Magic-users with talent, people they can’t control.”

“Doesn’t that describe everyone here? We’re echoes of the people still fighting for their path in the world.”

“I can’t imagine what would have happened to Fjord if we hadn’t been there to warn him away from the academy.” Caleb’s brow furrowed worriedly. “Or if they’d stumbled across you if you’d still been alone in the temple.”

“They didn’t get us, Caleb. We’re unique in our stories, but let’s not forget that we’re  _ all _ children who were standing on coals, pushed forwards so we don’t… burn our feet. They’re the same voices, the same stories as the people who see healing in you.”

“I don’t understand why the Mother wouldn’t just tell me plainly.” Caleb was somewhat irked at the method of communication, mostly because it was entirely too effective for his liking. “Or intervene Herself.”

“Fire.”

“I don’t… I don’t think I understand.”

“Cosmic fire, of a sort. The fabric of the worlds are built on balance.”

“Who built it? Either a grand, absent architect or a kid with a magnifying glass.”

“I dunno.” Cad gently stroked his chin hair, fingers combing through to free it of snarls and wayward beetles. “Sometimes the Gods can’t help us without upsetting that balance: you can try to fix a shirt, but if you handle it too roughly? It’ll rip. Or the stitches will come out. Your ancestors got their prayers answered in you, in Beau, in Jester and Fjord. Veth too, but she’s got a fascinating tale of her own to tell.” Cad chuckled to himself, “I don’t understand her story, but it’s an interesting one. I like it a lot.”

“She held me.” Caleb admitted, Cad was unsure of who Caleb meant, “The Wild Mother. She… held me to her chest, and told me to cleanse. To purify, and renew. How do I do that without restarting the war? How do I clear the diseased trees, without destroying the system that has created the Empire in the first place?”

“…When lightning struck the first tree, at some point there were creatures around to see it.” Cad’s eyes reflected the slowly dying coals, a leaf carried by the breeze landing upon his nose. “They learned how to harness it, to trust it in their homes, to cook food, to save them from the cold. Do you trust yourself?”

“Yes.” Caleb was confident, then he sagged, “I don’t know. I trust my intentions but this is something I couldn’t have… I thought my goals would be different, at this point in my life.”

“I do.” He was honest, Caduceus usually was, but Caleb doubted that he’d have been able to tell. “I trust you.”

“Why?” Caleb’s incredulous stare pulled more soft laughter from the cleric, the bass tones moving through the wizard much like the deep, rasping songs of his dreams.

“You know how dangerous it is. As curious as you are? You care about us more.” Cad’s explanation was simple, yet complex, just like him. “You let us love you. That’s scarier than any forest fire in the wor – well, no, that’s not actually  _ true _ …” Cad rethought his statement, “But it is still pretty scary. Isn’t it?”

“…Yes.”

“It’s okay.” The gentle squeeze he gave to Caleb’s shoulder was a rare, welcome touch, “Picking each other up. Keeping the fires from eating us, from the inside. Our ancestors may not have known who they were getting, but we willingly chose each other.”

The Firbolg’s ears twitched as the moths that had gathered around them began to flutter close, reflecting firelight off of the white wings. Soon, the sky began to pale, the cool morning light pouring into the walled-off patio area of the tavern, just enough to reflect off the tears on Caleb’s cheeks.

“I don’t think they chose correctly.” Was the slightly thick, emotional response.

Caleb’s trembling, unsteady, hand reached out, stinging scars burning in the damp wind, yet a few fluttering, white moths landed on his fingers. The chill in his skin lifted when a massive paw wrapped around his wrist, cradling his burning forearm.

“I disagree.” A thumb moved over the scars, “It’s amazing to me.”

“What is?” He didn’t know what to make of the inspection of his person, allowing the perceptive eyes to move over the scars.

“You’ve been through so much, you lost so many years, and yet you constantly fight yourself to remain kind.” The smile remained, never changing, never falling from his face, only widening as he released his hold on the wizard. “You don’t need to follow the Wild Mother, Caleb. She’s just letting you know: You’re on the right path.”


End file.
